


That Was The First Time

by futuresoon



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M, First Date, Flashback, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does it look good singed? She'll probably like it better if it looks good singed. (For mayura_4_loki via help_haiti.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Was The First Time

It is well-established that this is not a story that has a beginning or an ending. It’s a very _big_ story, after all; at any given point there are so many different things going on you’d hurt yourself if you tried to look at them all at once. But there are parts, of course, that you can separate out and look at without being crushed by the weight of it. And you can give them beginnings and endings if you like. It certainly makes things easier. That way, you can pick and choose whichever one you want, and rest easy knowing it won’t overload you _too_ much.

Where this one begins, more or less, is when Claire Stanfield suggests a double-date.

\---

“A—a what?” Jacuzzi asks. Being around Claire still makes him nervous, but Chane seems to like the guy and Chane’s probably a good judge of character, right? Right?

“A double-date.” Claire makes some gesture with his hands Jacuzzi doesn’t entirely understand. “Me and Chane. You and Nice. You guys need to let off some steam and I need to learn how this stuff works, so it’s perfect, yeah?”

Jacuzzi swallows. “I don’t really—er, that is—we haven’t—I don’t _think_ we’ve—um, we…don’t really know how that stuff works either.” Unless Nice does? There _was_ that one time, but, well. Jacuzzi isn’t sure it counts. He should ask her. Right after he asks her how she feels about going on a double-date with a mass murderer and a mute knife freak. (A _nice_ mute knife freak! But. Knife freak.)

Claire’s hand gesture drops. “No kidding? You two? I’da figured you and her would know all about it. I mean, every girl I ever asked said no and if Chane had it any different she ain’t indicating it, but you and Nice are thick as thieves. I thought you guys’d been together forever or something.”

Jacuzzi can feel his face heating up. “We never really got around to it,” he mumbles. “It didn’t seem like a big deal.”

Claire throws his arm around Jacuzzi’s shoulder. Jacuzzi freezes. “Then we can all figure it out together!” Claire says. “You guys are like family to her, so you’re like family to me, and family helps each other out, yeah? It’ll be a learning experience for all of us.”

“—y-yeah,” Jacuzzi manages through the terror. “I-I’ll just g-go ask Nice.” Claire releases him, and he bolts for the house as much as a guy with a limp can.

(Which, well, isn’t all that much. But he tries his best.)

\---

Nice is not being helpful.

“You and Chane both need to get out more,” she says, and to anyone else it would be a little alarming that she could carry on a coherent conversation while mixing the chemical components for a cherry bomb, but Jacuzzi is not anyone else. “I think it’s a great idea. Claire have anyplace in mind?”

“He didn’t say,” Jacuzzi says. To be honest, he doesn’t know a lot of places either—they’re still new to the Genoard digs, and the neighborhood ain’t exactly the kind of place his gang feels comfortable spending a night on the town in. Grubby streets and dark alleys they can handle; well-tended parks and restaurants where the menu isn’t carved into the wall freak them out a little.

Nice adds another drop to the test tube. She looks a little disappointed when nothing happens. “Maybe Eve knows somewhere fun. Then again, she doesn’t seem the type who gets out much either. Maybe her _servants_ know somewhere fun.”

Jacuzzi takes a breath. “H-hey, Nice?” he asks. “This’d be our first date too, right? I mean, since we’re a…” He’s reddening again; Nice pats his head with a gloved hand.

“I guess so, yeah,” she says, smiling. “—oh, wait, wasn’t there that one time? When we were kids? Everyone _said_ it was a date, I remember being so embarrassed about it. Maybe that’s why people thought we were already going out, huh?” Her face is a little red too.

“I wasn’t sure about that one,” Jacuzzi says. “We were pretty young, so…I don’t think kids are really known for dating…unless maybe they are, I don’t know, we weren’t really like most kids so maybe we’re not the best example—”

The test tube fizzes. Jacuzzi yelps, jumps back, and falls over.

Nice surveys the tube with a wary eye, but nothing happens. She shrugs and caps it for later. “It was pretty good for a first date,” she says. “I had fun.”

“Yeah?” Jacuzzi asks, getting up from the floor. “That’s good, I remember I really wanted you to be happy—since it was right after—”

There’s a knock on the door. Jacuzzi falls over again.

“C’mon in,” Nice calls out, and the door opens to show Chane, notepad in hand. She moves closer and holds it out:

_Claire wants to know if Thursday works for you._

“Far as I know, yeah,” Nice replies. Behind her, Jacuzzi decides maybe sitting down is his best option at the moment, and pulls over a chair.

Chane nods and flips over to the next page, having apparently prepared her next question ahead of time. _He also wants to know if you have any ideas concerning where to go._

“We were just talking about that, actually,” Nice says. “And what we have come up with is: nope. We should ask somebody who knows the area better. Maybe one of our kind benefactors.”

_Miss Genoard is currently visiting one of the Gandor speakeasies._

Nice blinks. “Seriously?”

Chane nods again.

“One of the staff, then.”

_Mr. Benjamin went with Miss Genoard. Miss Samantha is ill._

“…well, ain’t that convenient,” Nice says. “Who else do we know?”

Chane shrugs. Jacuzzi guesses she hasn’t met many people outside Claire and their gang either.

“We could just go walk around, see what looks interesting,” Jacuzzi suggests. People’ll probably look at them funny, but they’re used to that.

“I like that idea,” Nice says. “Chane, you know where Claire is? So we can ask if he wants to come along?”

Chane shakes her head. _He is busy._

Both Jacuzzi and Nice decide not to ask what that entails.

“He’ll just have to settle with what we pick,” Nice says. “And he’ll probably like it if Chane does, anyway. He’s very considerate in that regard.”

“Considerate, yeah,” Jacuzzi says weakly. “Uh, should we get going? If we wanna have enough time to see a lot?”

Nice starts to pack up the chemistry set. “Gimme a minute, I don’t want anyone to knock this over.”

Jacuzzi can’t really disagree with that.

\---

The mean streets of the upper-class New Jersey suburbs are not easy to travel when one of you has a huge tattoo on your face and another of you is covered with scars and an eye patch; the looks they get from passers-by range from “is the circus in town?” to “hide your children, quick”, and Jacuzzi finds it more than a little disconcerting that Chane is the least conspicuous among them. Chane looks practically _respectable_, whereas he has the streets written all over him and Nice’s scars are the only thing keeping people from noticing how scandalous her clothes are. (Not that Jacuzzi disapproves of them. Nice always looks uncomfortable in fancy outfits, and the fact that she’s willing to show off her skin says great things about her self-esteem. Plus, well, Jacuzzi has other reasons for not objecting to that, but those don’t need to be gone into.)

“That woman just _snorted_ at us,” Nice whispers. “You want I should go give her some scorch marks?”

“No!” Jacuzzi whispers back hastily. “I’m sure she’s a really nice person and she’s just having a bad day right now, we don’t need to trouble her any. And look, there’s a bunch of shops over there!” He points across the street; there is, indeed, the beginnings of a commercial district coming into view.

They still draw plenty of attention as they make their way around the stores, and maybe Jacuzzi’s getting a _little_ uncomfortable, which he’s horrible at hiding, but he can handle it. Nice isn’t usually defensive about being stared at—she learned a long time ago that responding with a smile is far more disarming, and for the most part she honestly doesn’t care. So maybe she’s just worried about Chane? Not that Chane seems bothered by it at all; Jacuzzi supposes if you can get along with Claire, you’ve gotta be all kinds of brave. Mostly Chane just watches. If someone stares, she stares _back_, which is actually a pretty good deterrent. Jacuzzi kinda wants to try that himself, but he gets the feeling he wouldn’t be as good at it as she is.

The shops are all classy and expensive-looking, with attendants who dress better than most of the people Jacuzzi knows, and some of the stuff doesn’t even have price tags on it. Even Nice is starting to look uncomfortable. They just don’t fit in, no matter how fancy their new digs are. Chane, in that elegant black dress of hers, is less conspicuous but still seems like she’d prefer to be somewhere else. Or maybe she just isn’t into shopping? Come to think of it, none of them really are.

“Let’s check out the restaurants and stuff,” Jacuzzi says, glancing around the busy street. “There’s gotta be some ordinary spots around here, right?” He doesn’t hold out much hope for it, but, well, maybe. Nice and Chane nod.

One look at the row of restaurants, though, confirms Jacuzzi’s suspicions. If people with suits and fur coats are going there for _lunch_, it’s probably out of their price range. Even the cafés look refined and Established in the way that means people who aren’t can’t go in. Jacuzzi sighs. Nice notices.

“We’ll catch a cab or something, get out of this crazy neighborhood,” Nice says, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Find somewhere more suited to us. It ain’t like the whole of New Jersey is swimming in it, yeah? Chane?”

Chane shrugs. She probably wouldn’t know.

It takes them a while to find a cab; most of the people on the street seem to have their own cars (and their own drivers). But they do eventually, and a ride takes them to a street lined with barred windows, dark alleys, and shifty-looking apple sellers. The driver peels out of there as soon as they pay him. The cobblestones are filthy, barely recognizable as their original color.

Jacuzzi and Nice instantly relax.

“_This_ is what I’m talking about,” Nice says approvingly. “I mean, swank is nice and all, but there ain’t nothing like a meal you have to fight for.” A dreamy expression appears on her face. “D’you remember the bar fights we used to get into, Jacuzzi? Some guy would say we were too young to be in there or start picking on you or hitting on me and then ten minutes later they’d be picking splinters out of their faces.”

“We aren’t allowed in a lot of bars back home because of that,” Jacuzzi says. “People don’t like it when their furnishings catch fire.”

Nice waves her hand dismissively. “Scaredycats.”

Chane is looking around the street, surveying the buildings and people. Her expression betrays nothing. Finally, she points towards a slightly cleaner structure on one of the corners; from the distance, it looks enough like a restaurant.

It turns out to be the entrance to a speakeasy. Nice snorts; Jacuzzi makes a small sound and tries to pull her back outside, but she just drags him along with her. Chane follows, evidently intrigued.

The speakeasy doesn’t _seem_ to be Gandor, which, Jacuzzi guesses, means it’s probably either Martillo or some determined upstart like themselves, and while the Martillos haven’t given them a lot of guff yet, he doesn’t want to start any. “Nice,” he hisses, “we gotta get out of here, they might _recognize_ us—”

“I wanna check out the competition,” Nice says. “Just a friendly look-see, that’s all. Maybe we can make some new acquaintances.”

“Most of the new acquaintances we’ve made since we came here are either mobsters or crazy people,” Jacuzzi says desperately. He pauses. “No offense meant, Chane.”

Chane shrugs again. She’s used to it.

“Hey, barkeep!” Nice calls out. “Whaddya got for a lady who just spent an hour trapped in a neighborhood where they hire people to spit on you?”

The barkeeper stares impassively. “Beer,” he says.

Nice’s face falls. “No, you’re supposed to have a witty rejoinder tempered with sympathy and good humor,” she says. “How do you expect to bring customers back if they don’t feel welcome?”

“They don’t come here to feel welcome,” the barkeeper says. “They come here to get drunk.”

“That’s no way to run a business,” Nice says. “You gotta distinguish yourself from the competition! Give people a reason to come to _your_ place insteada some two-bit hack’s.”

A man from one of the tables pushes back his chair. “You gotta problem with two-bit  hacks, lady?”

“Look at the time, we’re gonna be late for that thing we have to do at the place,” Jacuzzi says, pulling at Nice’s arm. Chane’s expression is shifting into annoyance. That is not, in Jacuzzi’s experience, a good sign.

“What’re a couple of punks like you doing telling us how to run things, huh?” says another man from one of the tables. Everyone in the room is watching them now, probably waiting to see who’ll throw the first punch.

“Nothing, that’s why we’re going now,” Jacuzzi says. “Come _on_—”

“Hey,” the barkeeper says slowly. “Ain’t you that guy the bosses are looking for?”

\--which means this place is Russo, not Martillo or some determined upstart like themselves, which means Nice is narrowing her eyes and Chane is reaching into her sleeve and Jacuzzi is wishing Claire had never suggested any of this in the first place.

“What’s it to you?” Nice asks, and her hand is moving near her belt, oh man did she really feel the need to come _armed_—

“Whole lot of money being offered for your boyfriend, lady,” one of the men says. He and the others are starting to rise out of their seats, and oh look Nice and Chane weren’t the only ones who felt the need to be prepared. “Why don’t you just step aside.”

Nice just out-and-out _laughs_. “Boys, you might want to reconsider that. You ever wonder why no one else has claimed that bounty yet?”

“It’d be a shame to hurt such a pretty girl,” another man says. “Of course, you’re so marked-up already, you hardly count—”

\--Jacuzzi’s halfway across the room before Nice can try to grab him—

\--which is when a door behind the bar opens, and a blond guy in a blue jumpsuit steps out, calling, “Hey, Tony, did you get that package yet?”

The entire room freezes. For a moment, even Chane seems a little surprised.

It’s the blond man who breaks the silence, noticing the newcomers and breaking out into a grin. “Hey, it’s you! Remember me? Graham? Man, I didn’t think I’d see you again this fast, it’s gotta be fate or something. What’re you doing here?”

He walks right up to Jacuzzi and claps a hand on his shoulder. Jacuzzi tries not to flinch.

“Uh, we were just looking around the area, we walked in here on accident…” Jacuzzi manages. “We didn’t know it was Russo territory, honest!”

Graham looks around the room. “These guys been giving you trouble?” he asks, returning his eyes to Jacuzzi. “I can have them cleared out, no problem. Anything for a friend.”

“…I didn’t know we were friends,” Jacuzzi says weakly.

“Of course we are! Well, there’s still a bounty, but I haven’t heard anything from Boss Ladd about it and his opinion is final. Besides, we had a moment of bonding. He knows what those are like. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Right,” Jacuzzi says. “Yeah.” On one hand, his opinion of the Russos is something unfit for civilized ears. On the other hand, he’s pretty much completely lost right now. And Graham is looking at him a little too intently to be comfortable.

Behind him, Nice’s hand still wavers at her hip. Chane, however, has a knife already out and ready to use, waiting for things to go sour again. Judging from the expression on her face, she fully expects it to.

Graham’s arm loops around Jacuzzi’s shoulders. “So, can I get you a drink? And the lovely ladies too, of course. On the house.”

“Actually, we were just going,” Nice says, putting her hand on Jacuzzi’s arm with a guarded expression. “No time to chat.”

Graham’s face falls. “You sure? It’d be great to catch up.”

 “We’re sure,” Nice says firmly. “C’mon, Jacuzzi.” She tugs him out of Graham’s grip, and he almost collapses in relief.

“Bye, then,” Graham says, dejected. They make their way back to the door when Jacuzzi stops and turns around.

“A-actually, do you know a good place to eat around here?” he asks.

Graham just stares for a moment. Then: “There’s a great Italian place over on Mayfield,” he says. “Try the cannoli.”

“Thanks!” Jacuzzi says, giving a little wave as Nice drags him outside.

Once they’re safe, he turns to her with a nervous smile. “That didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to go in there in the first place,” Nice replies. She still has a death-grip on his arm.

Chane’s knives have returned to wherever it is that they go. Jacuzzi doesn’t like to ask.

“Yeah, well, at least we got something out of it,” he says. “Let’s go check the place out.”

When they get there, the restaurant looks pretty ordinary, the customers neither dolled-up nor surly and unkempt. What they can see of the food looks all right, or at least the people eating it seem to be enjoying it; Jacuzzi makes a reservation for four on Thursday evening, and they hail down another cab to get back home.

It’s late when they arrive back at the mansion. Chane waves to them and goes to do whatever it is she does when she’s alone. Jacuzzi heads back to his room, too, his leg sore from walking; Nice provides a steadying hand while they go up the stairs. He flops onto his bed with a wince.

“You should take it easy,” Nice says, rubbing his leg. “You’re still banged-up from the train. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you hold your side sometimes.”

Jacuzzi smiles up at her. “It’s nothing,” he says. “It’ll get better, anyway. Since I have such a nice nurse looking after me.” It takes him a moment to register what he just said; when it does, his face turns bright red and he pulls a pillow over it.

Nice pats his hand, her own face coloring, and she stifles a small giggle. Underneath the pillow, Jacuzzi is glad she can’t see just how much he’s grinning.

\---

“Italian, huh?” Claire says. “I like Italian. All that tomato sauce.”

Chane holds out her notepad. _Be nice._

Claire puts his hands up. “I can be nice! I’m a nice guy!”

Chane gives him a long, even look and scribbles down something else, pointing it at Nice. _Clothes help?_

Nice nods. “C’mon, I can show you some stuff.” She takes Chane’s hand, and the two of them leave the room.

“Clothes help?” Jacuzzi asks, confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t go out to dinner in the same stuff you wear every day, although what my doll wears every day is pretty stylish in and of itself,” Claire replies. “Admittedly I’ve never had the opportunity to try it in a romantic fashion, but this is a learning experience, yeah?”

“Um,” Jacuzzi says. “The stuff I wear every day is the only stuff I have.”

“—a learning experience for _both_ of us. Nothing for special occasions? Like, a vest with a classier pattern?”

“I _like_ this vest,” Jacuzzi mumbles. “And our special occasions don’t usually need us to look sophisticated.” It’s true. A night celebrating at a speakeasy could really ruin a good suit.

“Jacuzzi, as something that could pass for a brother-in-law if you turned your head and squinted, it is my duty to aid you in your endeavors,” Claire says. “Which in this instance means getting you some suitable attire. You don’t want the ladies to think you don’t care about this, do you?”

Jacuzzi wants to say that he doesn’t think Nice would mind it—_she_ likes the vest too, or at least that one time she said she did, unless she was just being nice, what if she was just being nice? What if she thinks it’s boring? So he’s too caught up in his worrying to notice that Claire has already dragged him outside and into a car. He’s been dragged around a lot lately, anyway; after a while, you just get used to it.

“You have a car?” Jacuzzi asks, after he’s realized he’s apparently inside one. “I didn’t know you had a car.”

“It’s kinda new,” Claire says as he turns on the engine. “Came into some money, you know? Work’s been good lately.”

Jacuzzi continues not to ask.

Shopping with Claire is an…experience. The stores that yesterday seemed imposing are suddenly nothing to be worried about, Claire looking through their stock with a discerning eye and asking questions of the attendants so smoothly they seem off-put. Jacuzzi still doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Claire certainly seems to, and that makes it okay, sort of.

“I’m half-thinking we should check out the kids’ section,” Claire says, surveying Jacuzzi after browsing through another unsuccessful rack. “You ain’t exactly the tall and broad-shouldered type. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but hey. Makes you harder to shop for.”

“This is why I don’t buy a lot of new clothes,” Jacuzzi mumbles. “Well, that and usually not having enough money.”

“Kid, you pulled off a major heist and are now living in a mansion,” Claire says. “I think you can afford a little heavy spending.”

“It’s not _our_ mansion. And major heists don’t come every week—you have to learn how to conserve. It’s basic fiscal responsibility,” Jacuzzi says.

Claire stares at him. “You never fail to surprise me, kid,” he says. “What, are you a banker as well as a bootlegger?”

“If I was a banker right now I’d be more of a criminal than I already am,” Jacuzzi says darkly. “At least we’re mostly small-time.”

Claire shrugs. “I fed a guy his own tongue yesterday. Everything’s relative.”

Jacuzzi stares back for a long moment, at a total loss for words, until he manages, “…_why are we talking about this in public_.”

“Hell if I know,” Claire replies. “Let’s check out the next store. Maybe they’ve got a better range of sizes.” He walks off, hands in his pocket, whistling.

Jacuzzi takes a second to breathe and remind himself that Chane is a very nice girl who deserves to be happy before he follows.

\---

They do eventually find something approximating formal attire—Jacuzzi isn’t big on suit jackets, but the vest and shirt underneath aren’t so bad, and the pants are, well, pants. Claire does have to convince him about the tie, though. A life of constant paranoia leads you to be wary of things that could be easily used to strangle you.

“Very nice,” Claire says, looking Jacuzzi up and down. “She’ll love it. Of course, she probably would’ve loved anything, because you two are cutesy like that. Does it look good singed? She’ll probably like it better if it looks good singed.”

“She thinks a lot of things look good singed,” Jacuzzi says to the floor. But he’s smiling, anyway. The new clothes get boxed up.

Claire pulls out a pocket watch and glances at it before putting it back. “4:26. We should head back before the ladies start wondering where we ran off to.”

Jacuzzi wants to say Nice wouldn’t be too worried, but then he considers what _he_ would think if _she_ disappeared with Claire, and instead nods in assent. Anyway, they need to be on time for the reservation.

When they get back, Miss Genoard greets them at the door. “Nice and Chane are waiting in the parlor,” she says. “They asked me where you two were, but you hadn’t left a message. I hear you’re going out tonight?”

Claire nods. She smiles in return. “That’s lovely. Someplace respectable, I hope?” Miss Genoard doesn’t ask too much about what any of them do for a living, but Jacuzzi’s pretty sure that’s just because she doesn’t want to think about it. He always feels guilty around her; for a lady who keeps in contact with a major mafia family, she veritably radiates morality. And it’s not like he’s _that_ immoral! He just. Makes and sells illegal things. And steals stuff. And goes on double-dates with assassins. And honestly most of his friends _have_ killed at least one person at some point or another, but—yeah, so he doesn’t like to think about it either.

“It’s not a den of villainy and bad influence, if that’s what you’re asking,” Claire replies. “Apparently the cannoli is very good. And how can cannoli be evil, I mean really.”

_It could be if you were using it_, Jacuzzi doesn’t say. Instead, he says, “We’d better meet up with Nice and Chane, then,” and moves towards the parlor. Claire follows. Miss Genoard curtsies and goes upstairs, presumably to sip tea and read the Bible.

In the parlor, Nice and Chane are sitting on a couch, Nice sprawled and Chane neatly on the edge. Nice is—Jacuzzi swallows. Both the girls are all dolled up; Chane in the same white dress Claire gave her, but somehow she looks even better in it now, a bit more glowing in that silent way of hers, and Nice must’ve gone shopping herself at some point, because Jacuzzi’s never seen that dress before, red and silk with black sashes draped around it—her arms are still showing, she hasn’t hidden them in years, and why would she? She’s _beautiful_.

“I’m gonna take the way you’re staring at me as a compliment,” Nice says, and Jacuzzi flushes and stammers out, “Uh, y-you look really great,” and then they’re both grinning like dorks again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jacuzzi notices that Claire and Chane look like they’re in their own little world too; Claire’s not saying anything, and Chane doesn’t have her notepad out, and they’re not even really _doing_ anything besides standing together and looking at each other, but something in their expressions and the way they look completely, absolutely comfortable with each other would be enough to make him smile if he wasn’t already. Romance is a funny thing, Jacuzzi thinks—anyone who claims to understand it must be either deluded or outright lying.

“I should go change,” Jacuzzi says suddenly, remembering. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Going upstairs and changing into the new clothes seems painfully slow, like he’s moving through molasses, and he’s _sure_ he’s messed something up, but Claire says he’s fine. Getting back downstairs is almost as bad—but then Nice meets him at the stairwell and there’s that _smile_ again, that happy little expression he usually only sees on her after a successful detonation, and yeah, maybe this will work. Chane smoothes out a wrinkle in Claire’s jacket; Claire brushes a strand of hair out of her face in return.

“You don’t clean up half-bad yourself,” Nice says, looking him over with an approving eye. “So _that’s_ where you two went off to—I was beginning to think you’d run away together.”

Jacuzzi once again finds himself at a complete loss for words before Nice lightly punches him in the (uninjured) arm. “C’mon,” she says, tilting her head. “We don’t wanna be late, do we?”

Before he knows it, he holds out his arm; she takes it, and they follow Claire and Chane out to the car. The ride isn’t quite as awkward as it was when it was just him and Claire—Claire has an interesting idea of what makes up small talk—but it’s still a little unnerving, and it’s a relief when Nice fills up the quiet with stories of their less-believable exploits, makes Claire laugh and Chane smile and Jacuzzi try to correct her (_six_ guys, it was only _six_ guys, and it’s not like the ticking was really loud enough to be heard anyway). It’s a strange sort of comfortable, sitting in a car with a psychotic assassin and a mute knife nut and a (beautiful, wonderful) bomb freak talking about the various ways they’ve brazenly flaunted the law, but, Jacuzzi realizes, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

At the restaurant, they draw slightly less attention than they did yesterday, probably because they’re all wearing relatively respectable clothes. The waiter does look at them a little funny, though, until Nice and Claire put on their most disarming smiles, at which point he just hands them the menus and backs off in a hurry. Jacuzzi supposes that’s the benefit of doing crazy things for a living; you don’t care quite as much about what the non-crazy people think of you. Or at least Nice and Claire don’t, anyway. He still gets worried when he thinks people don’t like him, but he’s working on that, okay? Just give him some time.

“They have separate sections on the menu for different kinds of meat,” Nice says, looking at said menu warily. “Don’t they trust us to figure that out on our own?”

“Most places are like that, Nice,” Claire says. “I think it’s just for organization.”

Chane scribbles and holds up her notepad. _I don’t like seafood. It’s nice to have it clearly marked._

It occurs to Jacuzzi that he really doesn’t know anything about Chane, other than that she’s very well-behaved and likes 1) knives and 2) Claire. There was something about her father, but, well, Chane doesn’t talk (or write) about it much. Mostly she seems more concerned with what _they’re_ doing, how _they_ react to _her_, which is kind of flattering in a way. So learning an additional bit of information on what she’s like behind the silence—that she has something against fish—is something to be happy about. Nice and Claire probably think so too, judging by the slight change in their expressions. Chane has opinions on minor things. Who knew?

“I don’t feel like seafood either,” Claire says, returning to the menu. “Pasta’s good. Maybe some regular spaghetti—can’t go wrong with the classics.”

Jacuzzi thinks he might follow in Claire’s footsteps, because even for a not-too-fancy restaurant the menu here is full of words he doesn’t understand. Probably they’re just sauces and stuff, or different kinds of noodles, so picking something at random wouldn’t hurt—he doesn’t think it would have anything _bad_ on it—but it’s still a little awkward. He glances over at Nice, half-hoping she’s in the same boat.

Nice is looking at the menu like it might bite her if she does the wrong thing. Jacuzzi breathes an inward sigh of relief.

“Alfredo is the white stuff, right?” Nice says slowly. “The sort of cheesy thing?”

“More like cream than cheese, but that’s the general idea,” Claire replies. “It’s pretty good. Of course, I prefer the usual tomato myself, but that’s just me.” He frowns. “It’s a shame they can’t sell wine here.”

“You can get alcohol at home if you want some,” Jacuzzi says, quietly enough that the other patrons won’t hear. “I mean, we don’t have any wine, but. It’s not bad.”

Claire sighs. “It’s just not the same.”

“Chicken parmesan sounds safe,” Nice says, closing the menu. “I don’t trust the calamari.”

“You stole a large quantity of explosives from a moving train held hostage by two different groups of psychos,” Claire says. “And you’re worried about squid.”

“Psychos I can deal with,” Nice says, a very pointed expression on her face. “They don’t taste like rubber.”

Chane takes a long sip of her glass of water, and somehow manages to say even less than usual.

The waiter, when he returns, takes their orders very quickly before rushing off again. Jacuzzi’s a little saddened by this; they’re not _that_ scary, are they? Heck, they’re being comparatively well-behaved—it’s not like they’re too loud or disturbing the other diners or doing anything strange, really. Well, the conversation’s a little strange. But not in a loud way. So it’s probably just the way they look, and Claire and Chane look normal, so it’s just him and Nice, so—he’s never wanted to hide the tattoo; it’s part of who he is, it sort of _defines_ who he is if you think about it too much, and even if it makes him immediately recognizable, he’s never been ashamed of it.

Nice hasn’t been ashamed of her scars since the bandages came off. When the bandages were still on, she _did_ hide, all the time, never leaving the house or even her room if she could help it; Jacuzzi visited her every day until he got the tattoo, and only after that did she start to creep back out of her shell. She told him once, back then, that it was easier for her to be so noticeably different from all the other kids when _he_ was different _too_. They hadn’t been especially distant before that, but afterward, it seemed like they were almost always around each other. One weird person is a freak; two weird people are a family.

So Jacuzzi doesn’t worry too much about what the waiter thinks. Nice is happy, and he’s happy, and anybody who wants to argue with that better have fire insurance. –not that Jacuzzi wants this particular restaurant to need it, but, you know, in general.

The food arrives, and it looks less intimidating than the menu described it as, for which Jacuzzi is grateful. Noodles + meat + sauce = pretty basic, right? Nothing they can’t handle. And, once tasted, it proves to be pretty good—_very_ good, actually; Jacuzzi wonders if maybe the waiter told the kitchen to be extra-careful with the dangerous-looking people at table three. It’s not like notoriety is completely without its benefits.

Nice seems impressed with the food too, or at least she isn’t giving it as much of a dubious look as she did the menu. “Not bad,” she says, after the first bite. “Kinda sweet. What about you guys?”

Claire nods enthusiastically, his mouth full of food. Chane scribbles: _A little heavy on the oregano._ Jacuzzi briefly wonders what oregano is, and what too much of it tastes like, before he says, “It’s really good. You should try some.” He scoops a bit onto his fork and holds it out to her.

Nice is, for a moment, nonplussed. Then she grins, leans in, and takes the food off the fork without using her hands; when she leans back and pronounces it good, his face is so red he thinks it might actually start burning, but thankfully Claire and Chane are too busy making googly eyes at each other to notice.

The rest of the dinner goes rather well, all things considering. There’s a moment where Chane spills a bit of tomato sauce on her hand, narrowly missing the cuff of her dress; she licks the red liquid off her skin, and Claire makes a strange choking noise, but he’s all right after a drink of water, so that’s not a problem. And Nice seems happy, really happy, so that’s—that’s not a problem at all. So Jacuzzi’s happy, too.

There’s not much they can think of to do afterwards, so they end up taking a walk around a nearby park, relaxing in the cool evening air. It doesn’t take long for them to drift into pairs; Claire and Chane ahead, and Jacuzzi and Nice lagging a little ways behind.

“There was never this much green back in Chicago,” Nice says, looking around at the trees and grass. “Not that I minded it, but, y’know. It’s just different, that’s all.”

“Not everything here is different,” Jacuzzi says. “We’ve got more money, yeah, and a bigger house, but the gang’s the same and so’s the work, really. And _we_ haven’t changed any.”

Nice slides her arm around his and smiles. “Maybe a little,” she says. “But not in a bad way.”

Ahead of them, Claire’s talking about something that Chane seems to find amusing. His gestures are large, exaggerated, and she actually makes an almost-laughing sound. Jacuzzi can’t remember seeing any other couple look happier.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” he says, tilting his head toward them. “It’s good that Chane gets to have that. She was so restrained when you guys brought her in—she deserves to have someone she can let go with.”

“And what a someone she picked,” Nice says wryly, but she’s still smiling. “But who am I to talk? My man’s wanted by the mob.” She rests her head on his shoulder, and he’s suddenly aware of just how close she is right now.

“Your _man?_ Really?” he mumbles. The evening air seems a lot less cool than it did a few minutes ago.

“Mm-hm.” Her hair is tickling his neck. “And a better one than most girls could ever hope for.”

He literally can’t think of how to respond to that, so he settles for what he hopes is a suitably grateful noise. Nice just giggles and nuzzles his shoulder.

When they arrive back at the front door of the mansion, Claire kisses Chane’s hand and whispers something in her ear. She smiles, soft and slow, and grabs him by the collar and kisses him full on the mouth; judging by the startled _mmphf_ he makes, it wasn’t the expected response, but the way his reactions melt into something a little more receptive suggest it’s not an unwanted one. Nice and Jacuzzi stand there blinking for a few seconds before Nice clears her throat and opens the door enough for them to get in without interrupting the others. It’s not the _most_ awkward Jacuzzi’s ever felt—early adolescence wasn’t easy—but it’s up there, and he’s grateful for the chance to get away.

Nice leans against the wall next to her room. “I have to say, I don’t know what I was expecting this date to be like, but normal and uneventful wasn’t it,” she says.

“I don’t really know what normal dates are like, so I’m not a good judge of it,” Jacuzzi says, shrugging. “But you had a good time, right? Normal doesn’t mean boring, does it?”

“Nah, not boring at all,” Nice replies. “It was kinda nice to have a quiet night for once. No guns, no threats, no frantic getaways…”

“Right, those came yesterday so they don’t count,” Jacuzzi says with a nod. Nice laughs.

A few moments pass. It occurs to Jacuzzi that the usual closer for a date isn’t a wave and “Well, see you tomorrow”. Nice glances at the floor, shifts on her feet like maybe she’s waiting for something, or at least hoping. Oh. Well. There is that, yes. Um.

Well. If Chane can do it…

It’s not quite like the first time, because the first time was just a few seconds and in the midst of an adrenaline rush anyway. It had taken him until almost after the train arrived to even process what had happened. But now there’s time, and there’s nothing else going on to distract them, and—Nice’s lips are soft, warm, her arms sliding around him are solid and comfortable, her hair smells a little like gasoline which just about makes it, really. His hand brushes against her face, and the interplay of smooth and rough on her skin doesn’t seem strange to him at all. He can feel her smile against his mouth.

She’s the one to break it off, but she’s still wrapped around him when she does. Both of them are breathing a little hard. Eventually, they let go and stand there a little awkwardly, faces red, unsure of what to say.

“G-goodnight,” Jacuzzi manages.

“Yeah, you too,” Nice mumbles.

After a moment, Jacuzzi turns around to go to his own room. His head’s still reeling a little, but that’s normal, right? Behind him, Nice watches, bites her lip like maybe she’s considering something—

\--and grabs him by the collar and pulls him into her room, shutting the door behind them.

A few minutes later, Chane returns from outside, wiping her mouth delicately. Claire has left for his own home, wherever that may be; she’s not entirely sure. She pauses in the hallway for a moment, cocking her head just slightly, listening.

When she proceeds to her room, she’s practically grinning.

\---

**1926**

The bandages needed to be changed twice a day. It was a real hassle, and besides, bandages cost money, so—so having the bandages finally come off is a good thing, right? Yeah.

Nice isn’t _scared_. That’s stupid. It’s just—Ma was always the one to change the bandages, and Nice never looked too closely while she was doing it, so she doesn’t really know what to expect. She knows it won’t be anything pretty. But there’re different levels of ugly, and Nice doesn’t know which one she’ll have to deal with.

The gauze comes off easy. The first time, it was all sticky, and it clung to her skin and it _hurt_ and the ones on her face didn’t fare any better from all the crying she did. But this time it comes off easy. Her skin’s all dry now, all healed up. As much as it ever will be, anyway.

She’s gotten used to seeing something different in the mirror. The parts of her hair that got charred up had to be cut off, so she looks a little uneven, even more scraggly than she did before. Nick says scraggly’s a good thing, it makes them look tough and experienced. Nice thinks it just makes her look like she got stiffed at the barber.

The bandages fall to the floor. She looks up.

Her hair is tied back so it won’t get in the way; all she’s wearing are her underthings so sleeves won’t get in the way either. So she’s got a real good look at everything. She can see the pink-brown splotches running up her arms and shoulders, crawling across her right ear and down her cheek. She can see why she _can’t_ see, not in that eye, not any more; the whole thing’s gone, lid and all, just a big pink-brown dried-up mess with a hole in the middle. She wonders if she should throw up.

There’s an eyepatch lying next to her. Ma got it for her the other day. Nice puts it on, and her mouth stays closed the whole time.

\--then there’s a knock, no, the sound of something hitting the window, and she turns to see someone scrabbling up the roof. Of course. She pulls the window open just in time for him to finally get his balance, which is when he turns bright red and almost falls backwards; right, she’s—she’s not very dressed, is she. Nice blushes just as hard and grabs her clothes while he’s still apologizing.

He’s _still_ apologizing (and covering his eyes) when she finishes dressing and taps him on the shoulder. “Hey, Jacuzzi,” she says. “Something up?”

Jacuzzi carefully removes his hands from his face before he responds. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he says, his voice a little unsteady. “Yesterday you said you were thinking about taking off the bandages for good today, so—well, it looks like you did, so…” His voice trails off.

“I’m fine,” Nice says. Jacuzzi’s never seen her with the bandages off; she’d always wondered how he’d react, how much he’d try to hide what he was thinking, but he looks—normal. As normal as he can with that new tattoo of his, anyway, which is when she realizes that maybe he’s _not_ hiding, maybe he’s only nervous in that weird recursive way of his where he thinks she thinks he’s doing something wrong even when she doesn’t and her reassuring him only makes him think she’s trying to spare his feelings. Jacuzzi’s kind of a strange kid. But, she supposes, so is she.

“Okay,” Jacuzzi says. He runs one hand through his hair. “Um, so, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to start going outside again, everyone’s really looking forward to having you come back and I, um, well it’s a really nice day so maybe we could go to a park or something, if you want, I mean, if you don’t want to that’s fine we don’t have to do anything I just thought maybe—”

Nice interrupts him before he starts to run out of breath. “Yeah,” she says. “I’d like that.”

And it’s kind of fun, isn’t it, to see how much his face lights up. “That’s great!” he says. “I brought some food and stuff, well, not on the roof, but it’s down on the lawn so do you want to go now? Or later? Either way’s fine, I can wait.”

“Now’s good,” Nice says. She looks down at her clothes—in the hurry, she picked short sleeves and overalls. Her arms are in full view. Well, that’s fine. She has to get used to this anyway.

They leave through the window. Ma ain’t home, and won’t be for a while, so she doesn’t leave a note. Besides, Ma knows better than to worry about her daughter getting into trouble. The gang’s practically the terror of the neighborhood; better to worry about who they’re getting into trouble _with_.

But right now, there’s no trouble. It’s a bright summer day, just a little wind blowing through her hair, not too hot, not too cool. Just like Jacuzzi said. Nice hasn’t really been outside in what feels like a long, long time. She almost forgot what concrete feels like under her shoes, how some sounds echo around the street and others get muffled by the buildings. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

They weren’t the only ones to think of the park; when they get there, it’s full of people, kids running around while parents watch carefully (or don’t), couples sitting together under the trees, imposing-looking men conducting dubious business deals on the benches. For a moment, Nice wonders if no one will notice them in the crowd.

Then one of the mothers looks at them and pulls her kid closer to her, and Nice decides not to get her hopes up. People aren’t that easy.

Jacuzzi starts to lead her towards one of the trees, but she shakes her head; they’re going to be out in the open, where everyone can see, and she’s going to learn how to deal with it. She _is_. So instead they end up in the middle of the grass, sitting on an old but comfortable blanket, and she can feel the eyes glancing at her but that is _fine_, that is _fine_.

The food’s in a basket, set down next to them. Nice looks at it. “What’d you bring, anyway?” she asks.

“Not much, just stuff I could find, but it should be pretty good—” She can hear that familiar note of _please like it please like it_ in Jacuzzi’s voice. It’s oddly comforting.

Opening the basket reveals sandwiches, apples, and a couple bottles of cola. Ordinary stuff, really, but anything eaten outside in the sun always tastes better, even more so with a friend. Nice munches on a sandwich contentedly. Jacuzzi does the same.

As they eat, Nice keeps looking at Jacuzzi, trying to figure out how he’s looking at _her_. He still hasn’t said a thing about the scars. Is he ever going to? She doesn’t think he’d be mean about it or anything, it’s just—he’s her best friend, of course she cares what he thinks. But she can’t tell what he’s thinking at all. He’s the same way he was before the accident, and it’s just _weird_, okay, he has to have had _some_ reaction to them, why isn’t he saying anything? _Why?_

“So we found this old building,” Jacuzzi says in between swallows. “And Nick thinks it’d be a pretty good hangout. We’ll need a place if we’re gonna be big players, right? And it’s got a huge cellar and everything, it’d be perfect. Besides, we should grab it before anyone else does. So do you wanna check it out later?” There’s that anxiousness again. Anyone else would think he’s being careful around her, but Nice knows better. For him, this is business as usual.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Nice says. “How far away is it?”

“Actually it’s real close, I dunno why we never noticed it before—”

Suddenly, Nice notices that one of the kids running around has made their way over. He looks older than them. And he’s smirking. Nice people don’t smirk.

“Aren’t you two from that lousy brat gang in the slums?” the guy asks, still smirking. “This place is too _clean_ for you. Go back to your rat-hole.”

“Actually rats are pretty good at keeping clean,” Jacuzzi says. “Better than a lot of people are, even.”

“Bug off,” Nice says, glaring at the guy in the way only the one-eyed can. “We ain’t bothering you here.”

The guy laughs. “Look around, doll,” he says. “You’re scaring the good folk just by _being_ here.” And yeah, maybe that’s true, maybe the people around them have scooted away a little and maybe there’s still some wary glances directed their way, but they’re not even _doing_ anything. If people are scared of a couple kids eating in the park, that’s their own problem.

“It’s none of your business anyhow,” Nice says. “Just leave us alone. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

The guy looks at Jacuzzi. “You know, I saw you and your other crook pals picking pockets over by Burton’s supply shop the other day,” he says. “But I didn’t see _her_ there at all.” He turns his eyes to Nice. “Were you afraid she’d scare people off?”

“Please, just go away,” Jacuzzi says in a very small voice. “_Please._”

“’cause I’d understand that, I mean, just looking at that messed-up face of hers makes me want to pu—”

Jacuzzi punches him in the face.

The guy stumbles backwards, swearing and clutching his nose. Jacuzzi tackles him to the ground before he can get his bearings; if the other people around them were uneasy before, they’re actively getting up and leaving now. Nice is torn between joining the fray—the guy’s like twice Jacuzzi’s size—and just watching, because that doesn’t seem to be mattering much.

“What the _fuck_, crazy kid,” the guy sputters before Jacuzzi’s next hit lands on his jaw. People think small is weak, but sometimes it just means it’s more concentrated.

“I _told_ you to _go away!”_ Jacuzzi yells between slugs. “_Why couldn’t you just go away?”_

\--but the guy hasn’t learned to keep his mouth shut, and snarls, “Just because your girlfriend’s an ugly _freak_—”

“_She’s the most beautiful girl in the whole world!’_ Jacuzzi screams, and with the next punch the guy is out cold.

Most of the people in the park have moved away pretty far now, or left entirely, and it’s not a bad bet that some of them are running for the cops. “We should—we should probably leave,” Nice manages. But her heart’s pounding strangely fast and her throat feels all constricted, like something’s stuck in there and she can’t tell what. Jacuzzi’s hands are bloody, and he’s breathing really hard. She doesn’t know why she notices that.

Jacuzzi looks down at his hands, then the guy, then Nice. He swallows. “Y-yeah, I guess we should.”

Nice shoves the food in the basket and grabs it; Jacuzzi takes the blanket. Together they run out of the park. It’s not until they’re back in the comparative safety of their own neighborhood that they stop for a breather.

Jacuzzi slumps down against a fence. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “It didn’t turn out to be such a nice day after all.”

Nice puts down the basket and sits next to him. “I dunno, it wasn’t so bad,” she says. He looks so upset about it. Why? It wasn’t _his_ fault.

“But it was your first day outside since the accident and I really wanted it to be a good one,” he says miserably. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Now something in her chest is constricting too, squeezing something tight but it’s not _painful_, not exactly. All Nice can think to do is grab Jacuzzi and hug him close, press her face into his shoulder and wrap her arms around him, and the startled sound he makes just causes her to smile against his shirt. Eventually his arms go around her too, and they sit there together for what seems like forever, the sun in the sky and the sounds of their life all around them, and even if it was a cold day, Nice thinks, she’d have all the warmth she needs.

Later, when they’re back with the gang and Nick teases them about how their _date_ went, Nice hits him in the shoulder. But on the inside, she can’t stop smiling.

﻿


End file.
